Serendipity and the fallen seraphim
by GemmaKat
Summary: A Hogwarts' student remembers the first time she saw Lucius Malfoy
1. Default Chapter

Serendipity and the fallen seraphim  
  
I remember the very first time I saw him. I was 6 years old and had spent a lazy summer day, where the heat seeps like honeysuckle scented moisturiser into the skin, soothing away all troubles and aches, and inspiring languid movements and sleepy senses, playing on the vast summer estate of my family.  
Later in the afternoon when a welcome breeze was stirring the silken hair of my head and snaking through the spacious, airy manor, I sat nestled on my nanny's, lap listening to the dulcet croon of her beautifully English voice, which so effectively painted extravagant images in my young imagination.  
A heavy tome sat balanced on my lap, my legs dangling over hers, her dainty hands supporting my own, careful as always that no damage came to me or my belongings.  
The casing of this particular book was thick, heavy leather the colour of bitter chocolate and it creaked when it opened, it's dusty gold pages filled with wonderful italics and magnificent illustrations. I giggled when Susanna opened it for the first time, and I did not need to turn to see the gentle smile which lit her smooth face.  
'Paradise Lost' was printed across the front in large golden italics, and Susanna took my small child-chubby fingers, running them along the indents, tracing each letter. I giggled breathlessly, little feet kicking, bare toes wiggling happily.  
Susanna laughed softly into my hair causing a small cascade to tumble across my forehead. She pushed it back with a practised hand.   
"John Milton." Her voice was like a familiar caress, and like some secret signal I instantly settled my body against her, little hands still gripping the heavy tome eagerly.  
"Of Man's first disobedience and the fruit  
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste  
Brought death into the world and all our woe. . . . ."  
And so she began. I didn't understand a single word of which she uttered, but the passion and understanding she herself conveyed was an entrancing lullaby. Occasionally she would pause in the reading and we would turn our attention to the detailed illustrations.  
All were intricate and beautiful, full of fire, passion and zeal. The garden of evil was a sumptuous paradise, and I ran tiny fingertips over the flowers, trees, bouncing my nimble body in joy at the animals, speaking their names aloud and turning curious eyes to the writing beside each illustrated page.  
There was one that caught my eye, and I remember placing my whole hand onto the image, catching glimpses through the splay of my fingers. There was an angel, his body that of a naked man, muscles hard and lean. He sat on a large rock, his shoulders held back, incredible blue eyes blazing upwards as if in defiance of his lowly seating.  
His body was like that of chiselled ivory, and his wings rested gracefully against his back like the wings of a giant dove, though perfect, beautiful feathers littered the ground, their edges charred and singed.  
I ran my fingers over the page, my eyes drawn to his ethereal beauty. The blazing of his eyes and the long platinum length of his hair enchanted my childish mind. He was the embodiment of all that was beautiful and right.   
My eyes travelled down to the golden italics at the bottom.   
"Loo-see-fur." I whispered, one finger resting on his face. Susanna chuckled her breath warm on my cheek.  
"Lucifer yes. The seraphim who defied God and was banished from heaven."  
I turned round eyes to hers.  
"Defied God?" My voice was more than a little amazed; in fact it was drenched with childish awe.  
"Yes, sweetness, he defied God. Lucifer was His favourite you see, and he grew arrogant, believing that he was as good as God."  
"No one's as good as God." I replied in complete conviction.  
Susanna hummed lightly in amusement.  
"No. And so God cast out his most beloved seraphim."  
I wiggled my bare legs, glancing aimlessly at the yellow hem of my skirt.  
"What's a seraphim?"  
Susanna placed a finger over mine on the page.  
"An angel. And that's what he is."  
I turned large eyes back to the captivating image, taking in the vast wings, straight white hair and hypnotising eyes.  
"Angel." I said with reverence, body still as I gazed on with fascination, the breeze stirring my long hair as it snuck under the gauze that covered the window that mottled the weakening rays of the summer sun.  
  
Voices sounded up the wide curving staircase, and I smiled gleefully as a woman's laugh drifted towards me. Tightening my grip on Susanna's hand, I craned my neck forward, trying to see beyond the gilded railings. I felt Susanna's free hand smoothing down the cream silk of my dress, toying with the ribbon that held the weight of my baby blond hair away from my face, though a few tendrils escaped to tickle my nose.  
I giggled breathlessly, tugging on Susanna's hand and hurrying down the stairs in a rush of silk, lace and childish exuberance. Running to the door, I peaked around the frame, my eyes greedily taking in the scene before me.  
Men and women mingled in my family's giant ballroom, the men wearing the most classic and elegant wizarding robes, whilst the women wore incredible gowns of silk, lace, satin, velvet, muslin and taffeta.  
The myriad of colours was almost hypnotising, and I watch fascinated as the colours swirled together as the crowd mingled and danced, their hands gesturing expressively, heads thrown back in laughter and eyes bright.  
The ballroom was vast with an impossibly high ceiling and walls the colour of fresh cream, whilst the curtains of muslin draped across the large windows, twisted into an elegant swirl held in place by large pale ribbons.  
The whole room had been enchanted so that drops of water hung from the ceiling and patterned the wall and floor like thousands of crystals. The enchantment was so that one could brush against the droplets and they would shatter into even smaller drops, clinging to people like crushed diamonds. Many wore them on the edges and hems of their gowns, and a few had them nestled in their hair.  
I saw all this through wide excited eyes, and when Susanna led me gently into this adult paradise, I felt the stir of butterflies in my stomach and dropped my head slightly as a wave of shyness swept through me.  
But then these tall beautiful people turned their glowing eyes to mine, a few dropping down, their robes billowing and whistling, so that they could pat my face and tell me how 'darling' I was, and coo over how 'big I had grown'.  
Susanna led me gently and expertly through the crowd, pausing often to greet those that stopped her, nodding her head and sending her waves of dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. Finally we reached our destination and she pushed me forwards slightly, one hand between my small shoulder blades.  
Noticing the tall man in front of me, his familiar dusky blonde hair and beard drawing my gaze, I ran forwards with a little cry.  
"Daddy!" My voice was high and happy, my arms reaching up to be lifted even before I reached him.  
Swooping down, his robes billowing around him like the wings of a raven, my father held me aloft, spinning us both around before balancing me expertly on his hip. His green eyes locked onto my laughing blues, and I felt exhilarated, my cheeks flushed with heat and my mouth a wide smile. Then my father turned to the group of men gathered around him displaying me as if I was some wonderful invention he had created; an object that demonstrated wealth and power. I was merely happy to be in his embrace.  
"Do you like the party, sweetness?" His voice was like melted chocolate; smooth, enchanting, hypnotising.  
"Yes Daddy, very much. Look, isn't it pretty?" I held out a hand, proudly showing him the magical water drops that I had scooped up, and which were now making my hand glisten as if covered in diamond dust.  
My father laughed, those incredible green eyes turning towards his audience before gracing my face once more. His long tanned fingers wrapped gently around my wrist, and his lips curved up into a captivating smile as he brought my tiny hand up to his mouth, before kissing along my palm; short, butterfly kisses which made me giggle and kick my feet in pleasure.  
When he pulled away from my hand his mouth and beard were covered in the crystal droplets and I clapped my hands in abject delight, the men around me smiling.   
Noticing truly for the first time my audience, I turned a bright smile at those around me, feeling so proud to be daddy's beautiful precious girl. My bright, almost feverish, eyes played over the faces of the men around me, noticing very little about them, their adult faces seeming so similar to me. But as my eyes fell on one man I stopped smiling, pausing to lean forwards and peer at his face.  
I recognised the blazing blue eyes, the long platinum hair which seemed like some magical shining variation of white to my mind, and the arrogant face with that defiant spark in the eyes. I turned wide eyes to his shoulders looking for the wings, but there were none. I frowned, though a small smile tugged at my pink cupid-bow mouth.  
My father noticing my fixed stare rubbed an idle hand on the small of my back.  
"What is it, poppet? Do you know that man there?" His eyes held mine before raising to the man in front of us both, an indulgent smile on his lips. I nodded shyly, though I did not look away from the platinum-haired enchantment whose blue eyes held mine.  
My father rubbed my back once more.  
"What's his name? Can you remember?" I turned glowing eyes to my father's before turning them back to the man's arrogant, alabaster pale face.  
"That's Lucifer, daddy." I said in a clear and confident voice.  
"He's in my picture book."  
There was a brief pause in which Lucifer cocked his head, reminding me of Sylvester, the large feral cat I had adopted and secretly fed scraps from the kitchen. Then the men broke into hearty laughter, my father's laugh the loudest of all.  
"Lucius, my dearest. His name is Lucius. But you were close."  
The men laughed again, and although a frown creased my forehead once more, a small smile still tugged at my lips.  
I stretched out a hand, trying to touch the man's silky length of hair.  
"Lucifer." I spoke once more with utter conviction, and the man reached out long, elegant and pale fingers and wrapped them carefully around my hand, before lifting it to his lips and kissing it formally as he might to a real lady.  
I did not giggle, though the brush of his lips was a tickling caress, I merely stared into his blazing blue eyes, awed that this angel, this seraphim, who had defied god had stepped from the page of my book only to stand before me at this magical party, on this magical eve. 


	2. Clear eyes

I remember the gazing upon him with fresh, older and intelligent eyes. Walking down the corridors of Hogwarts my steps made rhythmical beats on the smooth wooden floor, my robes billowing behind me due to my fast pace. Rounding the corner I smiled tightly at a fellow pupil before continuing my journey, determined not to be late.  
Finally I reached the steps that led to the dungeons, and quickening my pace I descended into the noticeably colder lower level. Absentmindedly pushing back a stray lock of hair, I tugged down the length of my sleeves so that they fell halfway over my hands, protecting my skin from the chill air.  
Passing the potions classroom I continued on until I reached a large wooden door the colour of burnt oak, and after pausing for a second to steady my breathing, I raised a hand and knock firmly, waiting patiently for the call to enter. When it came I turned the large brass handle and stepped into the warmly lit study.  
Professor Snape was standing to greet me as I entered, his thin lips drawn up in a small smile.  
"Miss Phoenii, thank you for being prompt."  
"Of course, professor." My tone was respectful, too used to Snape now for his brusque demeanour to irritate me.  
It was as I moved my eyes away from the dour, sombre-dressed professor to take in the room, that I noticed a tall man standing slightly in the shadows of the corner.  
I recognised him instantly, only a little surprised to see him here.  
"Mr Malfoy, it's a pleasure to meet you once again." I stretched out a hand, stepping forwards, my eyes trained on his face, part of me willing him to step into the light so that I could see him clearly.  
Lucius Malfoy moved out into the light as if obeying my silent command, his long platinum hair catching the glow of the lamps and shining in a myriad of colours. Who knew there could be so very many variations of white and platinum?  
His long, pale fingers reached out from the depths of his black, elegant robes, wrapping around my hand and shaking it firmly. I almost glanced at his shoulders to see if pure white wings were held gracefully against his long, straight spine.  
"Why Serendipity Phoenii, you have changed greatly since the years we met last."  
I nodded, the smile remaining on my face.  
"Yes. Though, if you don't mind my saying so, you have barely changed at all Mr Malfoy. You are just as I remember."  
A low chuckle rose from the depths of Lucius' throat.  
"Why would I mind such a compliment? Though surely I look older, it has been nearly 12 years."  
I cocked my head as I still remembered him doing all those years ago, and allowed my eyes to roam over his body before settling once more on his face. He was just as tall as I remembered and under the calculating gaze of an 18-year-old young woman with a keen mind and a sharp wit, he was still just as handsome and arrogant.   
His skin was still the colour of ivory, though I noticed fine lines traced the skin around his mouth and eyes. Somehow they only made him seem distinguished, and though I knew him to be in his forties, I would have placed him in a lower age group. The mixture of arrogance, elegance, uncanny grace and all-pervading sense of power and self-worth, made Lucius Malfoy seem timeless.  
In the glow of the firelight I saw once again the seraphim from my picture book which I had first seen so many years ago, and I smiled. Fallen angel indeed.  
"You are quite unchanged, though I am sure much has happened to you as it has to me in the time that has passed."  
I kept my voice light and respectful, knowing that not only is Lucius Malfoy a close acquaintance of my father, but also that he is an influential man within The Ministry and Magic and other less positive groups if my suspicions are correct. Sensing that this man is a lithe, powerful predator, his gaze pointed and all-encompassing, his hands so full of strength, his touch like the forbidden kisses that Lucifer promises to the tormented souls who reach for his shifting, seductive power.  
Lucius nodded sombrely, his eyes on mine, and looking into them I could so easily see why all those years ago I had considered them 'blazing' and saw an angel where a powerful man stood instead.  
I turned back to Professor Snape, taking in his obsidian eyes, the lines etched around them and the grey pallor of his skin. He looked strained, exhausted, though this was always his usual appearance.  
"Miss Phoenii, I have your paper from last week."  
I nodded, a smile still gracing my lips. Professor Snape strode to his desk, retrieving my paper and handing it to me with a tight-lipped smile.  
"It was excellent. Very well researched. A good job as per usual, Miss Phoenii."  
I tilted my head, feeling as a lock of dark hair brushed softly across my cheekbone. "Thank you, professor. Is that all?"   
Snape nodded his head, black hair falling over one eye.   
"Yes. You are dismissed."  
I dipped my head respectfully at him, before smiling at Lucius, my eyes taking in his majestic form once more.  
"A pleasure, Mr Malfoy." And with that I turned and exited the study, my mind already turning to the night of study ahead, though a smile still lit my face and my cheeks were slightly flushed with pink.  
"To whom the Arch-Enemy,  
And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words  
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:  
'If thou beest he-but oh, how fallen! how changed  
From him who, in the happy realms of light,  
Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine  
Myriads, though bright!'"  
  
I read the words aloud, shaping my gentle breath with pink, soft lips, savouring each word as if they were sweet, succulent morsels to be cherished, too delicious to throw away or take down all at once.  
Resting my head back on the rough tree bark, I looked up and out at the darkening sky, feeling as the breeze caressed my cold-blushed cheeks and ruffled my hair like the hand of a gentle mother.   
My hands played across the pages of the book I loved so dearly. Even if my childish imagination had not been captivated with such an exciting, daring and unique story, nor my eyes drunk with the intricate beauty of each stunning, glorious illustration that depicted beings so perfect that my breath still caught in my flawed, mortal throat, than the vision of Lucius, my Lucifer on earth, all those years ago was enough to ensnare me.  
Feeling so secure as the tree supported my back, the pages beneath my palms reminded me of the great minds of mankind, and I allowed my mind to drift back to my childhood.  
To many it must have surely seemed magical. And oh, how it was. The balls, the elegant dinners, the gathering of every great witch and wizard all of whom seemed so ethereal and awe inspiring to a young girl who lost herself each day in fairytales, angels and the promises of Gods.  
Each gathering held a special appeal; be it the gowns of sumptuous materials I was adorned with, the beauty of the ladies who were so perfect that my eyes widened and my chest ached, or the men who would lift me up, planting soft moist kisses on my smiling mouth, as they slipped magical trinkets into the pockets of my dress.  
And hadn't I loved being the beautiful, graceful, shining child? Didn't I sit on my father's lap, so readily reciting poetry or performing parlour tricks with any wand that I could coax from the steady grips of the watching men? Wasn't I my parents' only beloved? Too precious and perfect to be soiled by the hands of any child who had not come from a bloodline as pure and revered as my own?  
Often that burning shining star was I. But stars can shine too bright and for too long, and supernovas or the deepest of black holes are their fate eventually. Did my childish awareness allow this knowledge to slip into my subconscious? I could not say. Though I do know that often I wondered why my dress and beautiful hair was more captivating than my mind. Why my obvious intelligence paled when compared to my natural beauty. Often I wondered why the way I looked, or dressed, or spoke was so much more important than the books I longed to pour over and recite to any willing ear.  
Whatever it was that made me aware of the overt appreciation of beauty and wealth my parents regarded, I would sometimes refuse to join the twirling, colourful, enchanting crowd, choosing instead to perch upon the winding stairs, peering through the wooden bars, my eyes wide and observant.  
Since Lucifer flew to my house to grace my family with my presence, all I could think of was angels; seraphims. I would run to Susanna, books clasped in eager fingers, my mouth wide in an excited smile.  
"Read this! Read this!" I would cry, and Susanna would lift me up in the air, bringing me down to nestle into her body, whilst she sat in a plush armchair and read me the tales I so loved to here.  
We would pour over the pictures together, and when left alone I would hum the songs played at my family's soirees as I drew wings, feathers and beings with wide blue eyes and long, cascading hair in platinum, white, silver, gold and bronze.  
I had watched from my seat on the stairs as a platinum head made it's way through the crowd of dancers, drinkers and socialites. My little heart beat faster, and I moved to a crouch, my fingers gripping the rails tightly, blue eyes wide.  
There he was; there was the angel, my angel. Lucifer had once more returned to my house and I could not look away from his arrogant, stunning beauty and grace.   
Daddy had said that he was not an angel, that he was a man, and even though no wings rested against Lucifer's back, I knew it was he. God said that the devil could take many forms. This Lucifer was no devil, no demon with red skin, black eyes and forked tail. Oh no. This Lucifer was a perfect, real angel and as he walked I could almost see the singed white feathers at his feet. Surely angels could adopt many forms too? Surely angels could choose to walk among men?  
His walk was as fluid and graceful as a hunting cat, his gaze just as fixed and pointed. When he reached out a hand to grasp my father's, I followed with eyes that wanted to remember this image forever. My skin was tingling, my cheeks burning scarlet and my breathing rapid with excitement and a fear borne of want, need and naivety.  
Pressing my face into the bars, my lips parted as I saw my angel turn. His eyes, still blazing with arrogance, defiance, and now a softer look of recognition, turned and caught on mine. Feeling as though I would be sucked into those perfect ovals of the deepest oceans, my imagination causing me to see an otherworldly glow that surely could only be the enchanted candles, I stood in one bound, wrenching my gaze from his and running to the comfort of my nursery.   
I was too young, too weak and too mortal to meet the gaze of such perfection.  
Coming back to myself, I closed the book. Today I had spoken with Lucifer, spoken with the infamous Lucius Malfoy; the man who terrorised many in nightmares and haunted me in dreams of holy light, feathers as soft as down and as large as a swan's, and eyes that burned a path deep within me.  
Closing my eyes, the breeze whispering promises of peace to me, my memories lulling me into a sense of calm and peace, I leant my head against the tree, and allowed myself to tumble headfirst into a deep sleep which seemed like the warm welcoming embrace of a depthless ocean. 


	3. Dreams that stir and burn

"Him there they found, close at the ear of Eve,  
Assaying by his devilish art to reach  
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge  
Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams."  
  
I remember the dream that led to greater things.  
As my body slept so peacefully, propped against the tall old tree whose branches dipped to shelter my body from vicious eyes, my mind span onwards into a dream that was as sinful and seductive as chocolate, as fragrant as newly blossomed honeysuckle, and as profound as the first word uttered from a tiny, chubby baby's lips of pouting pink.  
I was seated on a large rock, the surface of which was smooth and flat though those around me appeared jagged and razor sharp. Burnt feathers drifted around my feet, black and crisp, the wind blowing them upwards towards my face, my eyes taking in their twisted, tortured appearance.  
Lush green grass tickled the soles of my feet, the colour so vibrant and juicy that my mouth watered, and a rich earthy fragrance made me suck in a great lungful of air, savouring the unique and pleasant scent.  
Flowers of the deepest purples, reds, blues and yellows peered up at me, some hiding behind the edge of my rock, others turning their faces up to the bright sun which beat down on us all, warming my skin and brushing pink across my cheekbones.  
I looked out to the horizon, green grassland stretching before me, decorated with graceful trees covered in a myriad of greens and delicate petal flowers. Everything was lush, vital and so wonderfully alive. Though the vicious rocks around me made it impossible for me to run out onto that grass and climb the trees whose branches beckoned for me to join them.  
Simply being able to see this beauty was enough for me however, and I shifted slightly on the rock, so that I could take in this view more clearly. It was then that I felt a presence behind me, and instantly I knew who it would be.   
I did not turn around, I merely continued to gaze in wonder at that around me, my back sensitive to the body heat of he who stood behind me, my ears straining as I heard the shift of robes as he knelt.  
"A gift." A honey smooth voice sounded in my ear, and I paused to wonder how anyone could own a voice that invoked such chill and such burning heat at once. It held promises; promises that I longed for him to keep.  
Lifting an arm, hand held palm-up, the being behind placed a glass bowl onto my waiting hand. It's cold seeped into my warmth, possessing me in a creeping subtle gesture that made me shiver slightly. The being behind responded by draping a cloak as black and silky as midnight around my shoulders.  
"Thank you." I breathed, my voice drifting away on the breeze. Long, ivory fingers curled around my elbow, lifting the arm that held the beautifully etched glass bowl, drawing my attention to it once more.  
A slender spoon was plunged into a slice of chocolate torte which was drenched in smooth, runny cream the colour of porcelain. Wrapping my fingers around the silver length, I raised it to my mouth, my eyes fixed on the dark of the chocolate and the pale of the cream that oozed over the edges of the spoon and fell in heavy drops onto my lap, beading upon the material of my gown.  
Sliding the cool metal across my lips, saliva rushed to my mouth, and as the flavours hit my tongue, my eyes closed in rapture. The chocolate was bitter, biting my tongue and filling my head with the scent of rich, dark chocolate, whilst the cream eased the tart sting with a gooey sweetness that made me think of the nectar of vibrant, scented flowers.  
I felt lips press against my neck, and strong arms wrap around my body. I leant back and sighed as I felt a strong torso supporting my own. Gentle hands took the bowl and spoon from my fingers, and my arms dropped to rest at my side, hands relaxed in my lap.  
The spoon was raised by long fingers that drew my gaze, though as the chocolate hit my tongue once more I was lost in the pleasure of it's seductive flavour and sensation.  
Twice more I sampled the heady mixture of light and dark, and then the bowl was placed aside, and the arms moved to wrap more tightly around me so that the large, long-fingered hands covered mine in my lap. I flicked out a pink tongue to lick the chocolate from my lips and I felt a warmth build deep in my stomach. I leant my head back so that it rested on the shoulder of the being behind me.  
He pressed his nose into my hair and breathed deeply.  
"You're hair is dark now; black. Where is the blonde beautiful little girl who made such a stir at adult gatherings?"  
His voice snaked its way into my head, and my eyes closed reflexively.  
"Oh, she died long ago. I was very sick you know." My voice had the murmured quality of one who is half asleep, caught in a cloud of dreams and unwilling to surface.  
"Tell me." It was a command, the arrogant tone only softened by the warmth of his breath on my cheek.  
"When I was eight years old I fell sick with an unknown illness. At first it was nothing but a slight fever and an inability to sleep, but as time progressed the symptoms grew more severe."  
I paused, and the time stretched on, though still a deep sense of peace held me in it's grip, just as the man behind me held me in his.  
When I spoke again, I turned my head so that my lips were close to the long arch of the man's pale throat.  
"The best medical wizards and potion masters came to my aid, yet none could heal me or even name the infliction that ravaged my small form. Finally, after many months of agony and hazy consciousness, I began to grow stronger, though my long, golden hair had long since fallen from my head. When the new hair began to grow it was jet black, and I went from being a fair blonde cherub, to a dark young girl whose blue eyes blazed from a pale face."  
At the mention of blazing blue eyes, my mind filled with the familiar image of Lucifer, and the man behind me chuckled, his chest vibrating against my back, making me shiver with pleasure and the merest hint of fear.  
"Do not be troubled, my raven-haired angel."  
His voice was so smooth and enchanting that I instantly relaxed against him, sleepy eyes gazing in amazement as white wings, seeming as soft as down, unfolded only to curl around my body like a protective shield.  
Heat began to lick across my skin, pleasant at first and then burning. I writhed within the white circle, watching with terrified eyes as black soot began to cling to those achingly perfect feathers.  
Tears spilled from my eyes, more for the corruption of those perfect filaments than for the agony that wracked my body, causing me to twist and writhe.  
Fingers curled around my arms in a vice like grip, scorching every inch of skin they touched. I was pulled around so that I was facing the man who held me so tightly.  
Lucius stared down at me, his eyes the blaze of blue I knew so well, his lips the pink I had often seen in dreams before. His face etched in a hard expression so that he appeared as if some magnificent creature had lovingly carved him from the palest, strongest marble.  
His regal gaze held mine, his eyes burning with a passion that both terrified and captivated me.  
"You are destined to fall, Serendipity." He spoke this as if it were a fact written in the very stone of God's creation, and I trembled even as his fiery gripped caused scalding agony to flash all over my body.  
"We are all destined to fall." And as he said this, flames burst forth, rushing over the lush grass, flowers and tress, forcing them into a withered black submission.  
Tears fell freely from my eyes, hitting the skin of Lucius' arms and evaporating with a hiss as they made contact. The flames began to burn his wings, and I watched in horror as the feathers burnt and fell as dust, only to leave a black, charred skeleton of wing.  
"No, no." I muttered, barely able to speak around the pain in my chest.  
"Be always afraid, and always watchful. For Paradise fell long ago, and you know the depths that hell can offer."  
And with this cryptic phrase that lashed out at my soul, wounding, scarring and waking something that I knew I could not deny, Lucius, my Lucifer, pulled me to his chest, the heat of his arms setting my skin on fire.   
And as the flames licked along my body, melting my skin and blackening my flesh, he pressed his lips to mine in a kiss that blistered and threatened to consume me in it's heat.  
  
I awoke with a start, hand flying to my chest, trembling fingers searching my skin for burns. Finding nothing, I settled against the tree once more, noticing how dark it had now become.  
I paused to catch my breath, before unfolding my legs and standing upright. Stretching, my eyes roamed the earth around me and it was then that I caught sight of my book.   
I bent smoothly to collect it, my forehead creasing into a frown as I noticed the pale cream envelope that jutted out from its pages. I opened the book to retrieve this invading object, and noticed that it had been carefully placed between two pages, one of which was adorned with the fiery, captivating image of the angel Lucifer. 


	4. To be held in the arms of temptation

"So much the more  
His wonder was to find unawakened Eve,  
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,   
As through unquiet rest."  
I can still remember the rough yet pleasant texture of the envelope beneath my fingers.  
I held it in a gentle grip as seated on my windowsill I peered out into the darkness. My fingertips caressed the edges, occasionally pausing to run over the fluid line of ink that read 'Serendipity'. My name. The lack of surname adding an intimacy to this address that thrilled and perplexed me.  
I raked a pale hand through my black hair, and heard once more that captivating masculine voice from my dream, "My raven-haired, beauty."   
He had claimed me at that moment, and to wake to find that he had graced me with a correspondence, was altogether too much for me to comprehend.  
My mouth was still filled with the ghostly remnants of that bitter chocolate and sinful cream, and the skin of my arms still tingled and burned. I knew as soon as my gaze fell on the envelope that it would be he who had placed it in my beloved book, and now I held temptation in my hands. I was unwilling to fall so easily, and so I paused and allowed my mind to drift in thought once more.  
  
The day I first began to develop symptoms of the illness that had threatened to kill me all those years ago, was a day of realisation, a day of dark discovery.  
My cheeks unnaturally flushed and my eyes too bright, I had chased Sylvester the feral cat from the house, terrified that my father would discover us at play and ban me from feeding the big rugged feline I loved so much.  
Sylvester was the size of a small dog, his face large and expressive. He had only one ear, the other long gone, leaving nothing but a silver-pink scar. I imagined that the noble, brave Sylvester had fought another rangy tomcat for the love of a beautiful, sleek female. Perhaps a pure white elegant longhaired Persian, or a slinky Russian blue.  
Susanna had laughed at my tales, and suggested that maybe Sylvester was a vicious alley cat who fought hard for his territory. That sounded magical somehow too, and so whenever I pulled the lanky cat into my arms, I would whisper into his remaining ear, telling him what a big brave kitty he was, and how he would always be my little 'bruiser'.  
On that day years ago, I chased Sylvester's mangy, slightly crooked tail into the grounds of my family's estate. It was Autumn time, and the lawn was covered in a blanket of dieing leaves of orange, red and yellow, bursting forth with stunning colour in their final moments of life.  
The sky had been grey and overcast, the large voluminous clouds holding my attention long enough for me to notice the varying shades, and the burnt orange of the sun which was fighting to push it's way to the front of the clouds, like an eager child desperately wanting to be the first in an ice cream queue.  
Sylvester was too quick for my short coltish legs, and in no time at all it was just I on the lawn, left alone in this burning, dieing world, the trees reaching out skeleton fingers for me to grasp, as if seeking for comfort and the warmth of the living.  
Aimlessly I wandered across the grass, kicking the leaves in my way so that they flew up in small clouds of swirling colour. I laughed, though I felt too warm despite my cool dress and ankle socks that left my legs open to the chilly damp air.  
Wiping the beaded dew from my little leather shoes, I licked away the moisture as only a carefree child can do, a smile on my pink cherub's mouth.  
The wind blew forcefully into me then, and I threw out my arms, laughing joyously and spinning around until the world was nothing but a multi-coloured blur. I ran after that, giggling as my dizziness caused me to waver, spin and finally fall in a happy feverish lump of cotton dress and cascading golden hair.  
When the dizziness retreated and my blue eyes opened to take in my surroundings, I realised that I had drifted quite a distance from the house. Wide eyes searching for a familiar landmark, I realised that in this coloured scattered world of dead leaves and skeleton trees, I knew not the way home.  
Lower lip trembling slightly and my head beginning to ache and pound, I stood on shaky legs and began to walk.  
"Sylvester!" I called tremulously, and then gradually louder, my voice rising to a panicked crescendo.  
My little heart began to pound and as the ache in my head increased, fat tears rolled down my flushed hot cheeks.  
"Daddy, daddy!" I cried in a panic, my little legs racing across the grass. Every tree looked identical and the brash colours that encircled me seemed too garish for my panicked gaze, and feverish vision.  
"Help, Daddy help me!" I cried, sobbing freely now. All I wanted was for my father, the man I knew to be strong and capable, to come and find me. And when he did he would lift me up in his strong arms, kiss my face free of tears and transport me safely to my bed, where Susanna would read to me and I could fall asleep in the cream coloured, soft plush duvet, my sleepy eyes staring up at the high ceiling, decorated as it was with images of cherubs, angels and young girls with wide blue eyes and golden hair.  
But my father did not come, and eventually the ache in my head grew so great that I sat down on the grass, leaves wetting the hem of my dress and my small girlish knickers.  
My socks were also soaked and the biting wind bit into my skin, the cold creeping into my body, though still my cheeks burned.  
I sat there and cried, fingers splayed over my face, my pink mouth held open as the sobs wracked my small frame. And then as if summoned by some magical force, a cloak was wrapped around me and strong arms pulled me to a warm body.  
Lifted in this embrace I managed to stutter out a faint, "Daddy?" But when I turned my eyes up to those of my rescuer's I did not see my father's familiar green. Burning blues met my curious, frightened gaze, the corners of pale skin creased with concern and mild annoyance.  
I reached a shaky hand to touch the impossibly silky and platinum blonde hair, my eyes growing steadily wider.  
"Angel." I whispered, though I am still unsure whether he heard me or not, so frail was my voice.   
I was shivering violently though my saviour's body and cloak were deliciously warm.  
"Shh, quiet now, little one." His voice crooned, and as if bowing to his greater will my eyelids began to droop, heavy as they were with sleep and fever.  
But the moment before they closed I noticed something marring the perfection of his pale smooth cheek. It was a dark drop of something, which reminded me of the wine my father drank each evening in a large beautiful glass with a stem that twisted and caught my eye.  
Without thinking I shifted in his arms and raised my face, licking away the tiny droplet as Sylvester would lick food stains from my giggling mouth. My angel's eyes widened in shock, before those beautiful lids fringed as they were with the palest eyelashes, became hooded once more.  
A metallic salty taste assaulted my senses, and I wondered where I had tasted something similar before. So deep was I in my childish, confused thoughts that I was barely aware of us moving, and it was only when the estate came into sight that I became aware of the motion of his long even strides.  
Sighing softly, I nestled further into his embrace, feelings his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. I snuffled into his chest, feeling so blissfully safe in the arms of an angel. My angel.  
  
Of course, my illness grew steadily worse after that event, the cold escalating the symptoms and filling my lungs with a chill that made me cough and writhe.  
But I was unwilling to think back on that terrible time once more. Hadn't I thought over it so many times in my lifetime?  
Instead, I turned my gaze back to the cream envelope which appeared so simply yet symbolised so very much. Had I always been destined to hold this decision in my hand?  
Once touched by an angel could a mortal ever ache for anything but the repeat of that blissful, sinful moment?  
Blue eyes fixed on the sloping writing that spelt my name and called to me in a voice so seductive that I almost shivered in the dim light of my room. Glancing once more at the darkness of the night, my head filled with captivating visions of burning wings and fevered cheeks, I slipped one long finger under the closed end of the envelope, and eased it open. 


	5. To come to a decision

"So talked the spirited sly Snake, and Eve,  
Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied:  
'Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt  
The virtue of that fruit, in thee first proved.  
But say, where grows the tree? From hence how far?"  
  
I remember the elegant slope of his script on the page, creased as it was, the edges caressed by the movement of my fingertips as my eyes scanned slowly, almost fearfully, across the page.  
  
'Serendipity,  
  
Our meeting earlier today inspired me to write to you, eager as I am to converse with you and discover how the many years have treated that young girl I saw so fleetingly in her youth, though heard so much about from an understandably proud and boastful father.  
Tomorrow evening I am returning to Hogwarts to confer with Professor Snape over the progress of my son, Draco (who speaks about you often, and is quite in awe, though he is too proud to admit such a weakness, of your keen wit and intellect).   
I request your presence in one of the vacant classrooms on the third floor. You will know which one if you choose to attend. I will understand if your studies prevent you from meeting with me, but know that if such an event occurs, I will be bitterly disappointed.  
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Lucius Malfoy.'  
  
Voices sounded in the corridor outside as the other Slytherin girls prepared for the encroaching night.  
I sat very still, perched as I was on the windowsill, holding the letter open in my hands, my gaze locked on the sloping script. Each curled letter was captivating, each inked punctuation entrancing. The ink itself was a fine black, though when it caught the light it seemed overset with a deep red, which reminded me of that drop I had so impetuously licked from Lucius' cheek as a child.  
The image made me blush, even as my mind whirled, knowing as it did now what that substance had been. Blood. It had been blood. I think perhaps I did realise this fact that day, despite the haze and pain brought on by the fever. But somehow blood on his perfect pale skin had not seemed such an affront. Fallen seraphims could likely bathe in the blood of babes, and yet to my childish imagination and eyes they would always be revered.  
Now I trembled at this knowledge, and I wondered, as I had many times before, what exactly Lucius had been doing on my estate that day, and how that single drop of blood came to rest on his cheek, quivering on his high cheekbone with every breath.  
His pink, thin lips flashed into my mind, and I found myself wondering how soft they might be. So often had I seen them curled into an arrogant smile, which although mildly irritating, made me long to press the sensitive cushion-tip of my thumb to it, slipping the very tip inside and brushing against those white, devilishly sharp, canines of his.  
I blinked, folding the letter with trembling hands. My heart was pounding a tattoo in my chest as I slipped the cream envelope beneath my pillow, and stood so as to de-robe.  
Once the heavy school gown and robe had been safely tucked away in the large mahogany wardrobe that my father had insisted I have, I pulled a long nightgown over my head. The ruffles and lace which decorated it so prettily reminded me of my childhood, and made me feel a flash of homesickness, though I knew that the home I wished for was the not the home of my reality.  
Sighing softly, the breath blowing through my parted lips, I curled my legs under me on the bed, my back pressed against the headboard and my hands kneading the plush duvet in an unconscious gesture.  
My mind turned to Draco Malfoy, who I knew was bedding down not far from my own room, his long hair most likely splaying over the pillow in a blonde fan, his grey-blue eyes hidden beneath pale lids so like his father's.  
I knew Draco through Hogwarts of course, but I had also encountered him in my youth, him coming from a bloodline as pure and wealthy as my own. I could still see him running towards me, his blonde hair, long even then, flying out behind him, his blue eyes laughing one minute only to turn hard the next. He never knew what he wanted, that child. He forever thought he did, that his will was total and complete, yet those who knew him well could see that he was one with no direction.  
Closing my eyes, I leant my head against the wall. No wonder he took so well and so completely to a group as close, secretive, and elite as the Death Eaters. Though, was there ever any choice for a child brought up in a family such as his own?  
A frown creased my forehead, and I purposefully turned my mind away from such an unpleasant, and most likely all too correct, thought. Instead, I saw once more Draco as an infant, his chubby little hand holding my own tightly, our mirrored smiles turned to those around us; performing for the crowd. And how the crowd would ooh and ahh. So similar were we, our hair a near identical golden glow, though mine was richer and his more fair. Our eyes both blue, our mouth both pink and pouting, perfect little cupid bows.  
How the spectators loved to see us dress in similar clothes, to see us holding hands and playing, to see us fast asleep in each other's arms.  
But that was not Draco Malfoy, and that was never me. We played the game, and oh how we loved it for a time, but then, as children do, we drifted apart, only to meet and converse in class or at the elegant soirees our parents expected us to attend.  
Draco was never cruel to me, though I have heard the tales spoken of him, and I know that for the majority they are true. There is a coldness in him that makes me pause. A chill that always made me act kindly towards him, but never to allow myself a real closeness.  
So like his father in appearance, yet so very different in demeanour. Many pass them off as one and the same, seeing no difference in their identical icy veneers and presence.   
How very wrong all those people are. How much I pity them.  
Draco has the platinum hair, the blue eyes and the smooth pale face with the arrogant mouth, just like his father. In this way they are similar, but that is where the parallels end.   
Draco is ice all the way through. Genuinely cold and cruel, I know he feels no remorse for his actions. Yet there is an angry passion in him that weakens him, creates cracks, which can be worked on so that he could be broken by skilful hands.  
Lucius is all passionate heat. True, one can not see this heat nor even touch it, for he inflicts it upon you. He is cold, he is cruel, he has done things that I will never allow myself to consider, but oh what fire he can create. What passion. What consuming heat that is so sharp, addictive and blissful all at once.  
Settling down into my bed, pulling the Slytherin colours of green and black over my body, I turn my mind back to the envelope which lies under my pillow, it's presence almost palpable.  
Draco Malfoy could never hold my thoughts as his father does. He could never possess me. But Lucius could, and this thought terrifies and thrills me, part of myself responding to this concept as if it has been lurking in the shadows, waiting for the light of this realisation and admission to fall upon it and warm its sluggish blood.  
And so, as I gaze into the darkness of my room, I make the decision. And I hope that it is one I will never be made to regret. 


	6. The forbidden fruit

"Forth-reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat;  
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat,  
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe  
That all was lost."  
  
The sky was growing dark, night pushing impatiently at the day, the moon beginning to peep sleepily around the bunched clouds, which crowded together like weary sheep.  
The sun knew when he was defeated, and his brash, happy yellow was fading to a burnt orange.  
I glanced out of one of the large arched windows idly as I made my way down one of Hogwart's long third floor corridors. I expected my heart to pound and my breathing to speed up in trepidation and an excitement tainted with a fear I could not shake; yet I felt eerily calm; detached. As if at this moment, now the decision had been made, there was no turning back. I had sold my soul to the devil and now he was coming to collect his fee.  
I turned wide eyes up to the ceiling, watching as it raced over me in a blur, my feet carrying me forwards mercilessly. Remembering the letter that had tempted me to this, I glanced at each door as I passed, looking for any sign that Lucius might be inside.  
Finally my eyes fell upon something in the distance, and once it came into view clearly, I smiled. I had almost forgotten about that statue, I mused as I took in the beautiful marble statue of the Archangel Uriel, his arm thrust out, one strong hand wrapped around the fiery sword of God which he wields to smite those in vengeance who have displeased the divine creator.  
The statue's eyes gazed out angrily, though the smooth face was serene, the whole image of passion and indifference seeming so apt at that moment, that I paused to run a hand along the angel's limbs, slowing my exploration in awed reverence as I trailed fingertips over the detailed wings.  
Smoothing my hands over the angel's face, I gazed briefly into the unseeing eyes which appeared to look beyond me and out endlessly to the night, and to battles where he could be safe in the knowledge that he was performing the will of God.  
How easy slaughter is when one has a divine cause. If only all actions could have such noble convictions, but oh how ignorant we all are, how incapable of being unmoved by our own selfish wants and desires.  
I moved my eyes to the dark door at the right side of the angel, and on silent feet I moved to it, pulled as I was by an aching curiosity and the need to see this through and not turn back, though a voice whispered in my head that still I had a choice. I did not believe it, and brushed it back with an idle thought of fate, destiny and human's folly of indisputable weakness.  
I did not knock, I did not even pause, I simple turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped into the warm room, lit as it was with the burning death of the setting sun, still fighting valiantly against the black mantel of the night.  
And of course, there he stood. Back to me, straight and regal. Shoulders wide, tapering to what seemed like a narrow waist beneath the elegant drape of his robes which hung long, though I could just see the black hem of tailored trousers.  
His long platinum hair which had always so fascinated me with it's texture and incredible colour, hung loose down his back, some of it falling softly over his shoulders, as straight and silken as it had ever been.  
My breath caught briefly in my throat, as the sun lit upon his magnificent hair, painting it with it's last dieing breath, so that Lucius seemed to glow and shimmer. For one moment I truly believed that Lucifer, the Morning Star, stood before me, and I fought an overwhelming need to cry at the beauty of this moment. Only an immortal could seem so breathtakingly splendid and perfect. How could we mortals with our flaws, both physical and mental, ever compare to such divinity?   
Lucius turned, his blue eyes lighting on my face, and the glow in them, though obscured by heavy, hooded lids, made my heart pick up its pace.  
"Serendipity." His voice was the gentlest caress, yet still I shivered slightly, an icy finger seeming to trail down my spine.   
"People call me Sera." I spoke, fighting to keep my voice as light and neutral as possible.  
Lucius tilted his head exactly as he had all those years ago, and when faced with such similarity I was, for a second, overcome with the memory, all the sights and sensations assaulting me in a startling rush.  
"Serendipity is far too lovely to bastardise. Too right for you for me to even consider changing it in any way. You do not mind?"  
I shook my head, momentarily struck dumb. Part of me was mortified by how pleased I was to discover he loved the name that I had always held such disdain for.  
Serendipity; 'the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.'   
As a child I had pondered over the choice of my name, knowing that yes, it was beautiful, but was there some deeper significance to my parents naming their only child with such a unique title? Had I been a truly fortunate discovery, an accident, a child they did not want but could not help but preen over once alive and beautiful?  
For a time I spent many nights pondering such thoughts, and then one day years ago, when my bored mind had led me once more to the splendid delights of the large family library, the heavy leather bound books and dusty tomes grasping my interest and holding me fast to their smooth cream pages, and their thrilling tales, I had stumbled across a lovingly battered old book, the pages fading with wear and the spine uncharacteristically broken and creased.  
It was titled 'The Three Princes of Serendip', and as my curious eyes lit over the pages, I discovered that it was a Persian fairytale, wherein the heroes possessed the gift of serendipity. 'Horace Walpole' was inscribed on the battered cover in cracked and flaked gold, and as I ran my small fingers over this, I remember thinking the mystery solved.  
A much loved book had inspired my parents to name me with such passion for individuality, and despite the irony of their attempt to paint me as an individual, only to spend my growing years training me to follow, I felt comforted to know that my parents could be gentle and human like the rest of us. Like myself.  
Clearing my throat, and finding my voice once again, I smiled tremulously at Lucius, my heart desperate for me to step forwards so that I could be closer to this angelic man who even now could make my skin burn and itch for his touch, his very essence, but my feet refused to obey.  
"I assume all is well with Draco, Mr Malfoy?"  
"Lucius, please." His voice like liquid satin oozed across my skin, and I fought the need to shiver once more, pushing down the tide of imagined sensation as my eyes watched him step closer to me.  
"Indeed. Draco's progress is most gratifying. I believe yours is too, if Professor Snape's enthusiasm can be trusted." Here he paused, the silence pregnant with my trembling tension and his satin calm, the contrast between us crackling in the stillness of that moment.  
"And I believe it can."  
I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling so dry and small, the airway tight and taut. I took a breath, attempting to steady the fluttering of my heart, which threatened to rise into my throat like a phoenix bursting forth in flame as it is reborn once more.  
"Thank you. Lucius."  
I could not help but savour the feel of his name in my mouth, and I longed to flick out my tongue and snake it over my full bottom lip, as if to catch the remaining flavour of his title.  
He nodded, a smile curving up his thin, surprisingly pink lips, my eyes following this simple movement, noticing the fine lines that creased his marble smooth skin as his amusement lit his face.  
He moved towards me, his body faintly swaying in a stalk which screamed of seduction and a predatory nature, which when accompanied with his blazing eyes made him appear like a giant feline hungry for the thrill of the chase, the rush of hot burning blood, and the need to plunged sharp canines into the throat of his victim.  
I was rooted to the spot, unable to take my eyes away from his beautiful face, my mind torn between the present moment and the memory of the first time I gazed upon my beloved picture of Lucifer, which had fuelled such obsession, which had caused so many events to come into being.  
I was prey now, and Lucius, with his burning eyes, shining hair and countenance of a fierce defiant angel, was the predator who would pull me down and consume me without any trace if remorse. This was how life is; this was how life is supposed to be. We all have our parts, and we play them as best we can.  
When he stood within an inch of me, his hand reached up to touch my cheek, not hesitating, not fraught with indecision, he just took what he wanted, his long pale fingers caressing my heated skin.  
Once more he set me on fire, but this time it was no dream. His fingers played across my face, claiming my soft lids, the hollow of my eyes, the sensitive swell of my lips, and the long line of my jaw. He took it all, and I would not deny him.  
My eyes had closed at his caress, and when I opened them his eyes were so close to my own, that I was lost in a world of brilliant blue which burned. Oh how it burned me, and oh how I relished the scorch of his passion.  
When his lips came down on my own, his arms snaking around my back, pulling me to him so that my whole body ached with the presence and heat of him, I was lost. Completely and utterly. Never before had I felt anything so achingly perfect and pure until that moment.  
His lips took their turn to claim me, and I held on to him, my hands roving almost desperately down the hard planes of his back. He had blown softly on the flame that I had carried within me always, and despite the ice in that breath of wind, I had blazed, and now we were trapped in the consequence of that action. Though how glorious it was to be swept away so completely.  
I did not hear him mutter the incantation, but I felt the edge of a bed pressing against my knees, and at his gentle guidance, I fell back onto its softness, his body following mine so that he was pinning me down, and the pleasure I felt at that moment will always be indescribable.  
He removed my clothes almost reverently, and I gazed upon his face, watching as his eyes roamed hungrily over each part of my body that he uncovered, his lips moving down to claim me as his own.  
I suppose the moment didn't last so long, but it still feels like we spent an eternity in that classroom, away from Hogwarts and indeed our usual lives, lost as we were in a new world of fire and divinity that we had created.  
I remember that the actual act was painful, and that nothing anyone will tell you gives you any idea of how you will feel and respond in that moment. But the gentleness with which we took me, and the passionate rhythm which I invoked in him, swept me away to my own rapture and happiness.  
We lay together for a long time after, silently enjoying the stillness and the feeling of a storm discharged which filled the room, my raven hair splayed against his pale chest, his platinum length falling onto my shoulder, to brush against the sensitive skin there and the line of my collarbone.  
Black against white we lay there, his face holding an expression that I wanted to remember forever, and which I knew I would have to see again. And again. How could I ever turn away and never gaze upon such beauty that invoked so much within me?   
I wondered as I lay there, safe in his embrace and soothed by the comforting, steady rhythm of his relaxed breathing. Was I fated to melt under his touch? Was every glance and meeting that had come to pass between us divinely inspired to lead me to his dark embrace? Was the decision even mine, or was I but a pawn in an immortal's calculating grip?  
  
I cannot say. 


End file.
